I Am Swaplocked
by Doctor WTF
Summary: It's just the sort of case that Molly Hooper lives for. Identical twins murdered on the same night on opposite sides of town at the same time. But the victims didn't have an identical twin. And twins don't share fingerprints. And for some reason Sherlock Holmes thinks that he is a Consulting Detective instead of her Pathologist. Fascinating. -A swaplocked sherlolly fic-
1. Chapter 1

**Swaplock : (swop - lok) An AU story in which the roles and personalities of Molly Hooper and Sherlock Holmes (along with supporting cast) are reversed. Yeah, things are about to get weird.**

**Enjoy!**

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Molly Hooper awoke with a splitting headache. That was the first clue she got to tell her that this was going to be a ruddy awful day. She hated getting her migraines. Hated them! With her head pounding and her vision blurring her mind became a bog and she lost the ability to think. Thinking was Molly's life. If she couldn't force her mind to focus and think, then what good was she?

Groaning, Molly rolled over in her bed and buried herself further under her duvet. Gritting her teeth she counted to ten and willed the pain away. It didn't work. There was no helping it then. She needed her medication.

The key was getting it in her weakened state. Sally had confiscated the pills after her last migraine, fearfully hiding them away in her lingerie drawer inside an empty box of condoms under her vibrator under the erroneous belief that Molly would never snoop there. Sally was charmingly naive that way. She would need to get out of bed, fetch the pills, and actually read the label this time in order to not repeat her previous error. After all, she had no desire to be rushed to the A&E with another overdose.

Sally hadn't spoken to her in nearly a week after that fiasco and Sherlock and John had been quite cross with her as well. Mycroft had even sent flowers and visited, a situation that could not, under any circumstances, be repeated. It had also been excruciatingly dull in the hospital, the staff banding together to force her to stay in her room with Sally at one point handcuffing her to the hospital bed in order to get her to 'rest.' Granted, she had easily gotten out of the cuffs and snuck down to the lab anyway, but there was no reason to repeat that experiment if she didn't need to.

Sitting up, Molly's head swam and spots floated before her eyes until she laid down again. So much for getting her medication herself, she grumbled and pulled the duvet up over her head. There was only one thing for it.

Taking a deep breathe, Molly screamed Sally's name at the top of her lungs, not even having to pretend to add the hint of desperation. With her head pounding she was fairly desperate already. From the main flat there was a surprised yelp and a loud crash.

To Sally Donovan's credit, it only took her seventeen seconds to rush across the flat and kick in Molly's door. From the audible click of a safety being switched off, the slightly older woman had even remembered to bring along her handgun. Molly smiled slightly, burying her face in her pillow. "Good old Sally," she muttered fondly under her breathe.

"What the hell was that_!_?" Sally shouted, stepping into the room fully. From the slightly breathless tone of her voice Molly knew that she had most likely frightened her flatmate quite severely. Her breathing was slightly elevated and previous experience told her that Sally's pupils would be dilated and her face would be flushed. Sally always chose 'fight' when it came to the fight-or-flight response, something that had come in handy many times in the past. "Why did you scream?"

"My head hurts," Molly muttered up from under her blankets. "Fetch me my medication."

There was a long silence. Molly knew that Sally had finished inspecting her room, but was still having trouble lowering her weapon despite the obvious lack of danger. "You what now?"

"Head hurts. Medication, fetch it," Molly said shortly, pulling down her duvet enough to meet Sally's glare.

"I can't believe you," Sally growled, finally lowering her gun and clicking the safety back on. "Did you honestly scream bloody fukkin murder just so I would come in here and play nursemaid for you?"

She didn't know why Sally expected an answer to that question. The answer was obvious. "My medication," she said, rolling over and pulling her duvet tightly around her shoulders. "Please," she added as an afterthought.

"I am not your bloody mother!" Sally shouted. She stomped from the room, slamming the door shut behind her with enough force to knock Molly's framed picture of her receiving a medal from the Lord Mayor of London. It crashed to the ground, but didn't break.

Sighing in annoyance, Molly nestled down further into her blankets and wondered why Sally always insisted on being so overly dramatic. Honestly, what sort of behavior was that for a Detective Sargent? She was always chasing Molly about shouting about this law or that regulation or how you had to have a search warrant before breaking into a property and, oh by the way, breaking and entering has suddenly become illegal as well. Sometimes Molly truly wondered why she put up with her flatmate's ridiculous antics at all.

However, then there were other times when Sally was really quite useful. Like when there was shopping to be done or when her mobile bill was due to be paid. Sally had long ago given up on expecting Molly to do any of that for herself which was really for the best in the long run. Also, for all her blustering and protests, Sally couldn't bear to see another person in pain as evidenced by the sound of returning footsteps.

"Next time, give a shout like a normal person," Sally said crossly, sitting down on the bed with a pill in one hand and a glass of water in the other. She handed them over, eyes crinkled in concern as she watched Molly sit up long enough to swallow the pill and drink the water before collapsing back again. "You alright there?"

"Eventually," Molly sighed, pulling the duvet back over her head once more. Her eyes slowly began to drift shut. Ordinarily, she wasn't one for sleep, but with her head like this sometimes sleep was the best option.

Sally sighed and gently patted her shoulder. "I'll text Anderson back and tell him we'll be in later then."

"Hmmm?"

"Anderson texted with a case. Something about two identical bodies when they had no record of a twin. But with you feeling poorly I'll tell him we'll be there in a couple of hours when you're feeling better."

Casting aside her blankets, Molly leapt from her bed and threw the doors to her wardrobe open wide. "Don't be ridiculous, Sally," she said brightly, hauling out the first blouse and cardigan she laid eyes on. "A case is just what I need! Besides, if I leave it who knows what sort of mess your stupid colleges at the Yard will make of it. Do we need a repeat of the Spotted Brunette incident? I think not!"

Sally turned aside slightly, rolling her eyes as Molly stripped down as if she wasn't even in the room. Molly truly was an odd one. Sometimes embodying Victorian prudery with her ideas of courtship – Molly certainly didn't approve that she was dating Anderson when his divorce hadn't been finalized– and other times so blasé about things it was surprising that she could still be a virgin. Well, probably a virgin. Most likely a virgin. She hadn't ever managed to get a full account of the whole 'Jim' thing from her after all. Now _that_ case had been an odd one.

"Coming?" Molly asked, breaking into Sally's thoughts.

Sally eyed her now dressed flatmate and sighed in practiced disappointment. "Must you always dress like a hobo?"

Molly frowned, her nose wrinkling as she pulled on her green wool jacket and wound her scarf around her neck. "My clothing is comfortable, practical, and easy to run in." The slightly confused yet defensive tone was one she often used with Sally. "What should it matter what it looks like?"

Following her, Sally grabbed her own coat from the peg by the door, shrugging it on as they hurried down the stairs. "It just might be nice if, for one, you dressed up a bit, that's all." Molly was ignoring her, focusing on hailing a cab down so Sally pressed on. "Sherlock might appreciate it if you do."

Molly blinked at her flatmate, utter confusion evident on her face. "Why would Sherlock care how I dressed?" she asked, clearly baffled. She dismissed the matter before Sally could reply as just then a cab pulled up. "St Bart's," Molly ordered, leaping into the cab and scooting over so Sally could follow. "The game is on."

SH-MH-SH-MH-SH

Sherlock Holmes awoke with a headache. Issues such as that was the precise reason he detested sleep. While he understood analytically that sleep was a vital process, he loathed the loss of control that it brought. Headaches were just the sort of thing his conscious mind forbade making the pounding between his ears that much more frustrating.

Pushing the pain to the back of his mind he began his customary morning routine. Snatching up his mobile he checked his email – boring, boring, dull, spam – checked the comments on his blog – fawning fans and no case over a three – and scanned the morning headlines – honestly, how did normal people find 'celebrity' babies so fascinating?–

Nothing.

By now John was up. He could hear the army doctor puttering around the kitchen – obviously hungover, his date must have gone better than expected – and the smell of frying beans was in the air. Sherlock considered breakfast than instantly dismissed it. He'd had dinner on Wednesday. That should hold him until tomorrow at least.

With no cases to be found he'd be forced to find other amusements today. He supposed that he was behind on transcribing his latest violin concerto from the concert hall of his mind palace onto paper. And his homeless network could always use a little maintenance. His informants could use paying, the bow of his violin could be rosined, there were experiments at Bart's he could look in on-

His mobile rang, the first notes of Lestrade's ringtone playing as he snatched it up and hit the 'Talk' button, grinning widely. "Lestrade," he greeted coolly. "What do you have for me today?

SH-MH-SH-MH-SH

If any of Mycroft's people had been watching the Baker Street camera feeds they would have noticed something off that morning. At precisely 7:49 AM a jubilant Sherlock Holmes and a cross-looking John Watson exited 221 Baker Street. This in and of itself was not odd. Actually, it was rather the norm.

Grinning like a school boy, Sherlock waved down a cab and eagerly hustled John inside it. If there had been lip readers watching the feed – and usually there was – they would have seen him talking animatedly and quickly about a pair of bodies found with identical fingerprints. He spoke of the statistical impossibilities of such an occurrence and the deliciousness that two people sharing the same fingerprints had been killed in different ways in opposite sides of the city at the same time.

John ignored him and complained bitterly about the beans and toast he was being forced to leave behind.

It was all perfectly normal. In fact, if anyone had been watching, they would have filled out and sent the typical report in –_ Subject has acquired new case. Contact NSY operatives for further details._ – and gone to get tea. It was Friday after all. There should have been fresh bakery biscuits in the break room. They would have completely missed what happened next.

At precisely 7:56 AM a frazzled looking Sherlock Holmes burst out of 221 Baker Street. Toast dangling haphazardly from his mouth, he struggled to get his arms into his coat. A moment later a bemused looking John Watson exited the building, helped Sherlock get his coat all the way on, and handed him his scarf.

Temporarily removing the toast from his mouth, Sherlock thanked his flatmate then set off at a mad dash for the tube station, Belstaff coat flapping wildly behind him as he ran. Back in front of Baker Street, a smiling John went back into his building and emerged a moment later with a happy looking English Bulldog. After a good long walk the two of them went back into the Baker Street house and John exited once more, locking the door securely behind him as he started in the direction of his work.

If any of Mycroft's people had been watching that day quite a different report would have been sent in – _Subject exited flat twice and now has dog and oh god, why god how can there be two of them now?_ – and quite a lot of alarm would have been raised until the report made its way up to Mycroft's desk for him to worry over. Instead, Mycroft's people were entirely too busy watching and worrying over an oddity of their own. The Baker Street feeds would go on being ignored for some time.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: I probably should have remembered to mention this last chapter, but inspiration for his fic comes from the wonderful mo-ho and her swaplock fanfiction as well as the indescribable joy of Lexie of artbylexie (look at her tumblr! It is full of wonderful!) fanart. With all that said, here's chapter two! Chapter three should be up sometime later this week once I figure out how to work with two sets of characters interacting when they have the same names.**

**Enjoy!**

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Molly Hooper was running late. She _hated_ running late for work – she never ran late for work! – but here she was, out of breathe as she hurried into St. Barts and very, very late. It had been a terrible morning. Her alarm hadn't gone off and she'd awoken with a terrible headache and Toby had vomited a hair ball into her right shoe and-

It had just been a bad morning.

Ducking into the break room, she quickly pulled her hair up into its customary pony tail and tried to compose herself before heading down to the morgue. People had probably noticed by now that she was late. Some part of Molly assured her that no one would mind, they probably wouldn't even comment, but ordinarily she was _never_ late! She hadn't even come in late the day after Sherlock's supposed death three years ago. Molly Hooper was many things and punctual was one of them. It was something to be proud of, that.

Maybe getting a cup of coffee would help disguise her tardiness?

She grabbed a waiting mug out of the cupboard and was in the process of pouring herself a cup of coffee when the break room door flew open and Sherlock Holmes burst into the room. Molly nearly dropped the pot in shock. Sherlock's face was flushed and he was panting slightly as he ran his fingers through his sweat drenched hair.

Oh god. What had happened to get him into that sort of state? Was Moriarty back? Was John okay? Was the hospital about to explode?

Sherlock's eyes alighted on her and a curious thing happened. His eyes widened and he blushed. "M-Molly!" he gasped, his skin rapidly approaching scarlet. "What are you doing here?"

"J-Just getting myself a coffee," Molly stammered, feeling herself flush as well. There was something about the embarrassed look on Sherlock's face that sent heat to all of her extremities. It was such an out-of-place look on the usually so composed detective's face.

"I could have gotten you that!" Sherlock said quickly, darting forward to take the coffee mug and pot from her. "You should have texted me. Cream and one sugar, right?"

Sherlock get her coffee? The thought was foreign to Molly's mind. "R-Right," Molly said, surprised that Sherlock even knew the way she took her coffee. Biting her lip, she watched as Sherlock rummaged through the fridge looking for where the creamer had gone off to. For some reason Sherlock seemed _different_ to her today. It wasn't just the strange way he was acting either. It might have been her imagination, but had he gotten his hair trimmed or something recently? And when had he started wearing ties? Not that he looked bad in a tie – on the contrary, he looked delicious – but a tie was not a Sherlock thing to wear.

"Since you're getting me coffee, I might as well get you yours," she said finally, opening the cupboards again to pull out a second mug.

"You don't have to do that."

"Black, two sugars, right?"

Sherlock stared at her blankly for a moment before breaking out into a wide grin. "Right!"

She grinned back at him, pulling out the box of real sugar she hid kept hidden away and stirring in the right amount of sugar as Sherlock found the creamer and added it to her coffee.

With a smile still on his face he ceremoniously presented the mug to her with a little bow. "Your caffeine, m'lady."

Giggling, Molly accepted the cup and handed Sherlock his own. "Thank you, m'lord," she said quietly.

Something that looked almost like surprise flashed across Sherlock's face but it was quickly replaced by pleasure as he sipped from his mug. "Perfect," he declared, still smiling at her warmly. "I didn't realize you knew how I liked my coffee."

"Of course I know how you take your coffee," Molly said, brow furrowing. She made him coffee just about every time he stopped by the lab. How had he not noticed that before?

"Oh, of course," Sherlock said quickly, his face starting to flush again. "You probably observed how I made it for myself or deduced the coffee to sugar ratio from a stain on my lab coat or-" Molly's eyes narrowed at him. Was he making fun of her now? Deduced? "-or maybe I should just take this opportunity to shut up before I really embarrass myself. Usually you tell me to shut up about now and I always appreciate it since I tend to babble when I'm nervous. Not that you make me nervous or anything! Well, you do make me nervous, but not in a bad way. Nothing you do is in a bad way. Except Christmas, but I promised I wouldn't talk about Christmas any more. Everything you do is perfect because you're perfect, I mean, you're perfect to me and your hair looks so nice up like that – Oh god! I'm babbling. I'm sorry! I know you hate the babbling. I'll just shut up now. Shutting up! Promise! It'll just take me a-"

"Sherlock," she said, her voice firm even though she was anything but. Did he really just call her perfect? Did the man she'd fantasized over for years really, truly, honestly call her perfect? Something was wrong. Calling people perfect wasn't Sherlock. It wasn't Sherlock at all. "Sherlock, are you, are you alright?" she asked timidly, well aware that she was just as flushed as the man before her was.

"Y-Yes," Sherlock said firmly. He took a long sip of coffee and stared at the wall to the left of Molly's head. "I'm just a bit out of sorts today. Running late."

Molly licked her lips and took a sip of her own coffee. "Me too. My alarm didn't go off."

"Ah." Sherlock's face was starting to reach a normal colour again. "Sally didn't wake you?"

"Sally?" Molly asked, confused. Who was Sally? Did he mean her cat? "Oh, I think you mean Toby. Yes, he ended up waking me. Wouldn't leave me alone in bed until I got up." She smiled at him warmly, the smile quickly fading when she saw the look of shock on Sherlock's face.

His eyes were frozen on her face, his eyes wide as his mouth opened and closed soundlessly. "Toby?" he said, voice weak and Molly thought the hand holding his coffee cup might have actually been trembling as he stared at her.

"Y-Yes," Molly said, suddenly unsure again. Why was Sherlock acting so oddly? "I've told you about Toby before."

"No you haven't," Sherlock snapped, slamming his mug down onto the counter. He winced, biting his lip as he stared at the cup, an empty look on his face. "Sorry," he said after a moment. "Sorry. I shouldn't have snapped at you."

Apologies now? What on earth had happened to her Sherlock Holmes? The nearly trembling, embarrassed looking man in front of her was hardly the Sherlock she was used to. Was he sick? Was this some sort of disguise he was working on? Was he – Was he making fun of her for some reason?

"Are you sure you're alright?" she asked again, holding her coffee cup in front of her like it was a shield.

Sherlock looked up at her and smiled widely even though his eyes screamed pain. "I'm fine. Just fine. So," he said brightly, "is it to be the lab or the morgue this morning?"

Wasn't that the sort of thing he was supposed to decide? With how odd he was acting, Molly didn't dare ask. "Morgue," she said, reaching for the coffee pot to top her mug up. After a moment's hesitation she filled Sherlock's up to the brim as well. "I have a few things to finish up there."

"Morgue it is then," Sherlock said brightly, picking up his coffee mug and whirling towards the door. Holding the door open for her, he grinned at her with that strange happy/sad smile. "Coming Molly?"

Something was seriously off about Sherlock, Molly thought to herself as she returned his smile. But for the life of her she couldn't figure out what. "Y-Yes."

They got into the lift together, Sherlock hitting the button to take them down to the morgue. Molly bit her lip, staring down at her cup of coffee in the awkward silence. She didn't understand what was going on. Why was Sherlock acting so odd, so human? Usually he was the cool, collected master of emotions. She'd never seen him blush before. She hadn't even thought him capable of blushing before!

"So," Sherlock said slowly, shuffling his feet as he stared at the lift door. "Toby. Is he nice?"

Molly frowned. Since when had Sherlock shown any interest in her cat? "I suppose. It's just nice to go back to my flat and have someone there who's happy to see me."

"I bet," Sherlock grumbled, glaring at his coffee. They stood there in silence for another long moment. "Have you been seeing each other for long?" he suddenly blurted out in a rush.

She blinked at him, baffled. "I've had him for a little over four years now if that's what you're asking."

"_Four_ _years!_?" Sherlock sputtered, spilling his coffee a little. "You've been dating this fellow for four years and you never mentioned it before now_!_?"

"What are you talking about?" Molly asked, gripping her coffee tighter. "Sherlock, Toby's my cat!"

He stared at her. "Your cat? You have a cat?"

"Yes! Toby! You've met him."

Sherlock sagged in relief. "Toby's your cat," he sighed, a loopy grin coming over his face. "Not your boyfriend, a cat. Wait. You have a cat? I thought Sally was allergic."

"Who's Sally?"

The lift doors dinged open and Molly swept out the doors before Sherlock could answer. She had a sinking suspicion that she knew what was wrong with Sherlock and it wasn't a particularly nice thought. He wanted something from her. Something big. Something she would be hesitant to give him. After all they had been through together – after she helped him fake his death and hid him until his fall related injuries healed – he was still resorting to petty tricks to make her do what he wanted! It wasn't fair. She didn't deserve to be treated this way!

"Molly wait!" she heard Sherlock cry from behind her and she stopped, realizing that she'd nearly been running down the hall towards the morgue. Sherlock caught up to her, his coffee spilling everywhere as he hurried down the hall. "Are you – Are you alright, Molly? You seem a little off today."

Yes, he wanted something from her. It was all so obvious now. Stupid, stupid, stupid Molly! Thinking that it could ever possibly be anything else. "I'm fine," she said shortly. "What do you want, Sherlock?"

Sherlock blinked at her, taken aback. "What do _I_ want?"

"You're only ever this nice to me when you want something. So what do you want this time?"

"I – Nothing! I don't want anything, Molly," Sherlock said. He hesitated for a moment, staring at Molly's shoes. "But what about you? What do you want?"

"Me?" Molly nearly squeaked. She stared at him, feeling her face starting to flush. Sherlock had never asked her what she'd wanted before. He'd never seemed to realize that she could actually _want_ things that weren't making him coffee or helping him in the morgue. She couldn't handle this today. Not with the headache that continued to pound between her ears. Not when Sherlock was blushing and staring at her shoes as if they were the most interesting thing in the world. Who knew, perhaps today her shoes were interesting to him. Maybe he could see the signs of her terrible morning and Toby's hairball and running through the streets of London after she'd missed her bus and-

"Sherlock," she sighed, the hand not clutching her coffee coming up to rub the bridge of her nose. "I-I can't. Whatever this is, I just can't. Not today."

Sherlock's head jerked up and he stared at her in obvious concern. "Molly-"

"No," Molly interrupted, holding out her hand in silent pleading. "Just take whatever it is that you want and leave me alone, Sherlock." She couldn't look at him anymore. Turning, she hurried down the hall towards the morgue and safety that came with being focused on work. This was it, she promised herself for what had to have been the thousandth time. She was bloody well over Sherlock Holmes now, starting today. She wouldn't worry about him or wonder if he had been eating properly or set aside body parts for him or-

A hand came down on her shoulder, stopping her and turning her back around. Sherlock, a grim look on his face, took her coffee from her unresisting hands and set both of their mugs down on the hallway floor. Their hands free he stepped close to her, one hand coming up to smooth back the hair she'd failed to capture in her ponytail while the other one rested gently on her hip. "Molly," he said seriously, his eyes dark with concern. "What's the matter? What should I do? What do you need?"

Against her will, Molly flashed back to another conversation. One where she'd been the one offering and Sherlock had been the one taking, like always, and-

Sherlock inched closer to her and her mind went white. Her hand reached up against her will to clutch at his elbow in an attempt to keep herself upright. Oh god, her knees were shaking and her heart was hammering in her chest and she could smell Sherlock. She could smell the tangy smell of his shampoo and a faint chemical odor like the lab and the scent of orange marmalade. There was a bit marmalade in the corner of his mouth and she couldn't tear her eyes away from it. He'd eaten breakfast today, her mind thought hysterically. Good.

She took a step back, trying to get herself back under control, and Sherlock took a step forward, cupping her cheek with his hand. "Molly," he said again, his voice like velvet. "What do you need?"

She looked up at him. Looked into his eyes, so full of concern and puzzlement and something darker that she refused to put a name to. She licked her lips.

"You."

SH-MH-SH-MH-SH

"Late," Molly Hooper snapped as Sherlock Holmes breezed through the doors of the morgue, John Watson at his heels.

Her proclamation made Sherlock hesitate, his gaze locking onto the smaller woman. That was an odd greeting from the woman who typically started fawning as soon as he entered the room. She was sitting at the counter, a look of complete and utter boredom on her face with her arms crossed over her chest and something that was very nearly a pout crossing her lips. She looked normal enough, although he hadn't seen that particular jumper on her before and he hoped that he would never see it again.

His eyes scanned her form quickly looking for clues to her bad mood. Her brow was pinched, most likely a headache and her fingers tapped restlessly against her arm, she had been impatiently waiting for something. For him to appear? Why would she wait for him? Her hair was down and loose. Odd, Molly typically wore her hair up so that it wouldn't interfere with her work. Also, there was a curious lack of cat fur anywhere about her person. Had something happened to the wretched feline she called a pet? She also seemed to have lost quite a bit of weight recently. Nine pounds it looked like though that hideous jumper was throwing his calculations off. He frowned, disturbed by that observation. Molly was already too small to be losing so much weight.

If something had happened to her cat that, combined with her headache, would be enough to set the usually mild mannered pathologist on edge. This would take careful maneuvering if he was to keep his lab access in place. Females could be so unreasonable.

"Molly!" he said, smiling wide enough to produce the dimples as he filled his voice with artificial warmth. "You look particularly lovely this morning. Have you done something new with your hair?"

Molly hummed a non-comment and stared at the wall. "Did you bring me coffee?"

Sherlock felt his lip twitch as John started to grin widely. He could practically see his blogger mentally praising Molly for suddenly growing a backbone. Well, he for one didn't like this Molly Hooper. Right now he should be inspecting a body as Molly fetched him a coffee. Fetching _her_ coffee had never been – nor ever would be – part of the plan.

"No," he said firmly, struggling to keep the warmth and dimples in place.

Molly sighed in annoyance and rolled her eyes. "Well, fetch it then."

John snorted in laughter.

The smile dropped from his face. "The coffee?"

"No, no," Molly said dismissively, looking at him finally. She frowned slightly as she took in his appearance as if there something about it that bothered her. "The bodies, of course."

First she expected him to bring her coffee and now she wanted him to do her job? A scowl slid onto Sherlock's face and stayed there. "What bodies?" he asked coolly, eyes narrowing at her.

Molly clocked her head to one side and stared at him for a long silent moment. "You've lost weight," she finally said, her frown deepening. "Nearly ten pounds. And your hair is longer. It doesn't suit you. Change it back."

The near cataclysmic silence that followed was broken by DS Donovan entering the room, mobile in hand. "Hey Sherlock, John," she said pleasantly in greeting which, in and of itself, was wrong for a great deal of reasons. "Something's up at New Scotland Yard and Anderson says we should get started without him."

"Anderson_!_?" Sherlock growled, the wrongness of the day starting to affect him. "Why would we wait for _Anderson_?"

Donovan blinked at him, a puzzled look on her face as Molly continued to stare at him. "Are you alright there, Sherlock?" she asked. "You seem a little tense."

John held up his hands quickly before his flatmate could say anything unforgivable "Alright, alright," he said soothingly. "This has, honestly, been great. I mean, just remembering the look on Sherlock's face is going make me laugh for years to come. _But_-" he stressed the word pointedly, "I think we've all had our fun and it's time to drop the joke. I mean, we are all here to solve a murder after all."

Donovan and Molly exchanged a puzzled look.

"Why would you be here to solve a murder?" Sally asked, crossing her arms as she stared at John.

"I don't understand why you won't bring me the bodies," Molly said to Sherlock.

"Me? I'm here to help Sherlock. You know, like I always do," John said, looking at Sally, surprised.

"It's never been an issue before," Molly continued. "I get a case, you bring me the body. That always worked before."

"You're never here to help Sherlock," Sally frowned. "Did you get sacked or something?"

"Nonsense," Molly interrupted before John could say a word. "His hangover is indicative of overindulgence during a date – as evidenced by the recent polishing of his loafers, his best 'date' pair that he's mistakenly worn again this morning – not drowning his sorrows. Despite John's protests to the contrary, he is rather fond of his surgery and would still be drunk if he had been let go."

"Don't do that," Sherlock growled, glaring intently at Molly.

She looked at him, surprise crossing her features. "Don't do what?"

"Pretend to be me."

Molly frowned, an insulted look on her face. "Why would I want to pretend to be you?"

"You are acting a bit like Sherlock, Molly," John said helpfully.

"Oi!" Sally snapped, glaring hotly at the shorter man and pointing a finger at him. "Lay off. Molly's acting like Molly. It's Sherlock that's acting all freaky."

John's lips pursed in annoyance. "Why do you always call him a freak? He's not a freak!"

"I'm not calling him one!" Sally protested loudly. "I've never called him that."

"Your attempts at deductions are obviously an attempt to mimic my typical behavior," Sherlock said, stepping forward so that he and Molly were standing inches away from each other. "Likely, this is a misguided attempt to garner attention. "

"Attempts at deductions_!_?" Molly cried, deeply insulted. "I'll have you know I've spent _years_ perfecting the scientific methods I employ to make my observations."

"You always call him that!"

"What are you even on? _You're_ the one who's always calling Molly a maniac!"

"I would never-"

"That is exactly what I'm talking about. _I_ am the one who has developed the science of deduction. _You_ are simply a simpering-"

"Oi, wait just one minute, poncy-boy! Finish that sentence," Sally snapped, her attention suddenly riveting back to Sherlock. "I dare you."

"-pathetic, sorry excuse for a-"

"That's _it_!" Donovan shouted, ripping Sherlock away from Molly and putting herself between them. "You great git! People like you are the reason Molly had to fake her death!"

Sherlock recoiled as if he'd been slapped. "She what?"

"No," John said, rubbing at his temples. "This is- Sgt Donovan, that's just wrong. Sherlock is the one who faked his death-"

"Sherlock helped me fake my death," Molly corrected softly, her voice small and her face puzzled as she frowned.

"But-"

"How can you not remember Molly faking her death?" Sally demanded, incredulous. "It was in all of the papers for weeks! I punched you at her funeral for calling her a maniac! Nearly got sacked for it." At John's blank look she sighed in frustration. "Come on, John! That Irene Adler psychopath? Samantha Moran? Is none of this ringing any bells for you?"

"I think," Molly said very slowly, "I think something very odd is going on."

"Agreed." A thoughtful look was beginning to cross Sherlock's face. "And when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains-"

"No matter how improbable, must be the truth," Molly finished.

Molly and Sherlock stared at each other, mentally sizing the other up. John and Sally stared at the two of them.

"What the hell is going on?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

Sally and John glanced at each other warily. "Not in the slightest."

"Molly's hair is down. She never keeps it down when she's working."

"Sherlock's shirt is unbuttoned. He detests it being unbuttoned at work as he has an irrational worry that bits of his autopsies are going to slip down it."

Sherlock and Molly circled each other slowly, their eyes riveted to each other as they spoke over each other, deducing out loud.

"Her shoes are also of a type worn for running, not for standing still for hours."

"Similarly, his tie is missing. Sherlock's vast tie collection is as noteworthy as it is ugly."

"Cat hair is missing from her clothing. Molly never leaves her flat without giving Toby a 'cuddle.'"

"While he's typically careful to keep the worst of the dog fur off his clothing, Gladstone's fur is absent from the hems of his trousers."

"You're wearing jeans. You never wear jeans."

"Your watch is missing. You're extremely fond of that watch."

"And of course the most glaring difference-"

"Your unreasonably annoying and rude behavior?"

Sherlock's eyebrow raised. "I was going to say the same for you."

Molly scowled at him.

John and Sally glanced at each other before turning their attention to their flatmates again. "I'll repeat. What's going on?" John sighed loudly.

"This," Sherlock said, a smirk forming on his lips as he gestured at Molly. "Is not Molly Hooper."

Molly's scowl deepened. "And this," she said looking at Sally pointedly, "is not Sherlock Holmes."

Sally and John stared at them blankly. "Are you high?" Sally asked after a long moment. "Because I have absolutely no problem with hauling you in for possession again if you are."

"I'm clean!" both Sherlock and Molly protested at the same time. Blinking in shock, they eyed each other wearily and took a step back.

"Cocaine?" Sherlock asked very quietly after a long moment of staring at her.

Molly gave the very slightest shake of her head. "Heroin."

They both frowned and looked away from each other.

"Okay," John sighed again, rubbing his eyes. "Okay, fine. So. So, if he's not Sherlock Holmes and she's not Molly Hooper, then where the hell _are_ Sherlock and Molly?"

The doors to the morgue burst open and two figures lurched inside, attached at the lips and staggering as they attempted to walk and undress each other at the same time. Oblivious to their audience, the man – tall, dark, and wearing a tie – pressed the woman – short with her hair pulled back into a ponytail – into the counter and lifted her up so she was seated upon it. She obligingly wrapped her legs around the man's waist and he moaned into her mouth as he deepened their kiss.

John felt his mouth drop open and – from the quick glance he took at the others to make sure that he wasn't the only one seeing this – Sally's mouth dropped open as well. Sherlock on the other hand just seemed completely baffled and Molly was glaring daggers at the intertwined couple.

The man had the woman's cardigan half unbuttoned and she was working his tie off without either of them taking the time to make sure they were, you know, alone as they rapidly undressed each other. Something had to be done before this went any further and not just because, for reasons he couldn't understand, the amorous couple shared an uncanny resemblance to Sherlock and Molly. The very same Sherlock and Molly who were standing not five feet away from him glaring instead of being locked into a passionate embrace.

Maybe he was dreaming? But why he'd be dreaming about Sherlock snogging Molly was beyond him. Maybe this was a nightmare?

Nightmare or not, the other Molly's hand were getting dangerously close to the other Sherlock's belt and if someone didn't do something soon this dream was _definitely_ going to become a nightmare.

John cleared his throat loudly. "E-Excuse me?" he said a little too hoarsely and a little too loudly for his taste. "Um. Hi?"

The other Sherlock and Molly leapt apart, Molly's head hitting the top cabinets behind her as the other Sherlock staggered back, tripped over his own feet, and pitched to the floor. And yes, now that they were apart, the pair of them were still doing a good job of looking like Sherlock and Molly. Something terribly strange was going on.

"Oh my god," the other Molly gasped, covering her now beet red face with her hands and cringing away from them. "I never- I'm sorry! I never do this type of thing!"

"I should hope not," the first Molly said, her arms folding over her chest as she glared at her twin. "Such behavior is highly unprofessional."

"Indeed," Sherlock agreed, crossing the room to loom disapprovingly over the other Sherlock who was still sprawled out on the floor. "This is a place for work, not for juvenile groping."

At the sound of her own voice the other Molly's head jerked up to stare at her twin. On the floor, the other Sherlock gaped up into the furious glare of himself.

In this moment of abject confusion, Sally Donovan summed up everyone's thoughts the best.

"What the _everloving hell_ is going on?"


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: I just wanted to take a moment to thank all my lovely reviewers (Lian, SammyKatz, MrsBadcrumble18, Pelahnar, Diana, Thestarlitrose, varjaks, Guest, aye2skeye, and NiteQueen) for their wonderful words. I'd also like to thank everyone who put this story on their alerts and favorites list! Your support means so much to me!**

**This chapter is a bit shorter than the last one and still a bit confusing since everyone is annoyed by everyone else and still fighting. I hope it's not too bad though. Also, I suck at action scenes. Sorry.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

He'd had a nightmare like this once. Well, actually he hadn't. He'd never imagined that he would ever be caught trying to have sex with Molly by, well, himself and Molly. And Sally and John too.

No, in his dreams he usually found himself passionately in love with a walrus – or another woman or John once – for dream logic reasons. Just as he was walking his walrus/woman/John bride down the aisle – though he'd always been the one in the dress – Molly had appeared dressed as a nun – or fairy princess or, in one cherished memory, a burlesque dancer – and broke into tears as she demanded to know why he didn't love her. He'd tried to reassure her of course, eyeing the walrus side of the family nervously, but dream Molly hadn't wanted to hear it. She'd run off, him following, and suddenly they'd been on the roof of Barts.

Irene Adler – how he been such an idiot to not realize she'd been using him? – was waiting for them, her mouth red with blood as she grinned at them. "Time to jump!" Irene had chirped and as he'd watched, horrified, Molly had leapt off the building.

Dream magic transported him down to street level. He'd gathered Molly's bloody body in his arms and sobbed, hating himself for not following her plan well enough to save her. And then Sally had appeared, her fingers turning into knives, and she screamed at him with tears in her eyes as she strangled and cut the life out of him.

Then he'd wake up, his blankets drenched with sweat, shuddering as he reminded himself that Molly was alive, Irene was dead, and he'd never marry a walrus.

No, he'd never had nightmares like this before. But the feeling of bewildered mortification was familiar enough.

The other Sherlock was glaring down at him looking at him as if he was an idiot. Which was completely understandable. He did feel like an idiot. In fact he often felt like an idiot, especially where Molly was concerned.

Speaking of Molly, there she was across the room glaring at him in a way that made his stomach sink and his heart clench. Molly was also sitting on the counter, just where he'd left her, looking just as mortified as he felt which also made his heart clench. He just hated seeing her upset.

He looked back up to gaze into his own face and frowned. "What's going on?"

"We're attempting to discover that," his doppelgänger replied in a voice that, while a little more gravelly, was his own. With a little roll of his eyes, the other Sherlock stalked away and he felt as if he'd been dismissed. It was an odd feeling to be dismissed by yourself.

Shakily, he got to his feet.

"T-This is impossible," the Molly he'd kissed said nervously. Oh god, he'd actually worked up the courage to kiss Molly only to have _this_ happen. Why did nothing go his way? Everyone in the room looked to her and her face flushed hotly. "There's t-two Sherlocks and another me now. That's just _impossible._"

The other Sherlock rolled his eyes, dismissively. "Thank you for that, Molly, now do shut up and let the adults resolve this. Your simpering is lowering the IQ of the entire room."

"Oi!" Sally shouted, glaring at the other Sherlock as John shouted "Sherlock!" and he protested with a "Hey!"

"You don't get to talk to people that way," Sally said crossly.

The other Sherlock frowned slightly, scanning the faces of everyone who was glaring at him before settling on the other Molly who was now choking back tears. He sighed and looked to John. "Not good?"

"Incredibly not good," the non-crying Molly answered with a smirk. "Even I would have known how not good that was. Now then, there is undoubtedly a logical and reasonable explanation for this." She flipped out her black notebook and licked the tip of her pencil like she always did before beginning to take down notes. "Sally, did you happen to bring any of that hallucinogen back from that G.R.I.M.A.L.K.I.N. case?"

"No," Sally said, eyeing the room in the way she did when she wanted to arrest someone but hadn't decided who or with what charge. "I was too busy feeling betrayed by you locking me into a lab and letting be believe I was about to be attacked by a giant feral cat to sneak dangerous chemicals home."

"Hey!" John said, smiling widely. He seemed to be relieved to have something to talk about besides the glaring issues at hand. "Sherlock did that too! Only it was a dog instead of a cat and the acronym was H.O.U.N.D."

Sally twitched slightly and suddenly looked thoughtful. "He," she nodded towards the other Sherlock, "ever take you out to dinner as an 'apology' only to accuse one of the diners of a crime and then, when they run off, leave you behind to pick up the bill?"

"God, yes!" John laughed.

"Does he invite himself along on your dates absolutely _all the time_ and then, when you get upset, get that 'I do not understand your human emotions' kicked puppy-dog look on his face?"

"I think that's enough of that," Molly said firmly, shooting Sally a look.

"Indeed," the other Sherlock agreed. "We must focus on the matter at hand." In a burst of sudden movement he reached out and grabbed Molly, hauling her towards him as she protested loudly and attempted to hit him. Blocking her strike with one gesture he grabbed her chin and forced it upward, staring intently at her face. "Interesting. No evidence of facial scarring associated with plastic surgery."

"Oi!" Sally shouted again as he shouted "Hey!" and stepped forward. "Let her go!"

While both he and John moved to pull Molly away from the other Sherlock, the small woman took care of the problem herself. Jerking her head out of the other Sherlock's grip she headbutted the taller man, slipping her foot behind his knee and kicking in to force him to fall. The other Sherlock toppled back but, grabbing quickly at Molly's wrist, pulled himself back up as he attempted to use the movement to force her to the ground. Instead of hitting the floor, Molly used the momentum to swing herself behind the other Sherlock, wrenching his arm behind his back as she did so.

"You know baritsu," the other Sherlock observed with a smile as Molly shoved him bodily into an examination table and attempted to force him down enough to get her arm around his neck.

"You're too tall to strangle," Molly growled.

"Your size and position relative to me would suggest the use of a back mount to leverage yourself up enough for a proper choke hold," the other Sherlock said, grin widening.

"A bit too intimate, don't you think? I don't like you enough for that," Molly growled as she flushed hotly.

Chuckling, the other Sherlock used his free hand and, in a moment he couldn't quite follow, broke Molly's hold while simultaneously lifting her enough to slam her down flat onto the examination table. Her loud gasp as the wind was knocked out of her – and the other Molly's loud shriek of shock at seeing herself being manhandled – was all he heard as he ran across the room to punch this more violent, sarcastic version of himself in the face.

The other Sherlock saw the punch coming and raised an arm to deflect it, but that was okay. He'd boxed for years, the sport being his only outlet for the frustration and pain of his so-called privileged life, and he knew better than to start with something obvious. Faking a move to the left he dodged right and struck, hitting his twin in the jaw. The other Sherlock staggered back, a look of surprise on his face and he moved to get between the maniac and his Molly, fists posed to strike again if needed.

"Ah," the other Sherlock said, rubbing at his jaw. "So you're not completely useless after all."

That was it. He was going to pound that man, whoever he was, until his smug face no longer resembled his own. Lunging for him, he stopped short when Sally got in his way, her gaze full of determination as she blocked his path. John was doing the same for the other Sherlock, pulling his twin away towards the other end of the room.

"Everyone is going to calm down now," Sally said loudly, placing her hand on his chest and pushing him back. "If everyone does not calm down, I will arrest each and every one of you for whatever trumped up charges I fancy."

The other Molly ran across the room, brushing past him to reach the other Sherlock's side. "Oh my god, Sherlock! Are you alright?" she asked, reaching up to cup his rapidly bruising jaw.

The other Sherlock evaded her hands, stepping back and to the side without ever seeming to acknowledge that she was even there."Admitting your own incompetence now, Sgt Donovan?" the other Sherlock sneered, eyes firmly on Sally. John sighed and rolled his eyes at him as the other Molly seemed to shrink into herself, a look of pain briefly crossing her features.

Clenching his fist, he glared at the other Sherlock and wished for the chance to hit him again and harder.

"Shut it, Sherlock 2," Sally snapped.

"Sherlock _2!_?"

She rolled her eyes dramatically. "Well how else am I supposed to tell the two of you apart? Until one of you confesses to being an imposter we have Sherlock 1 and Sherlock 2. Unless someone else can come up with a better idea."

"Vernet and I agreed that using middle names would be the most natural solution," the smooth voice of Mycroft Holmes said from the doorway.

He jumped and whirled to see twin mirrors of his brother standing there, each one with a smirk on their face and an umbrella in hand. "Oh god," he muttered under his breathe. "I didn't think this could get any worse." From the hoarse grunt the other Sherlock let out, his twin couldn't help but agree.

"Sherrinford," the Mycroft on the left said, nodding to him and he felt himself flush. "Louise, Sgt. Donovan, may I introduce my colleague Mr. Mycroft Holmes, his brother Sherlock, John Watson, and Molly Hooper."

"Sherlock," the Mycroft on the right said, nodding to the other Sherlock. "May I introduce my colleague Mr. Vernet Holmes, his brother Sherrinford, Louise Hooper and Sally Donovan."

There was a pregnant pause.

"I detest the idea of being referred to as Louise," his Molly said, still lying on the examination table.

"Sherrinford? Your middle name is Sherrinford?" John asked, staring at Sherlock with a wide smile on his face. "Sherlock Sherrinford. Did your parents hate you?"

"Yes, I think they might have," he answered for the other Sherlock, rubbing at his temples. "Mycroft, what are you doing here? You promised never to come to my work."

"Ah," the Mycroft on the right said, his smile increasing. "I made no such promise. However, perhaps you're referring to Mr. Vernet-"

"Fine! _Fine_," he growled, glaring at both versions of his brother. "_Vernet_, you promised never to come here. So sod off."

"Is anyone listening to me?" his Molly asked crossly, sitting up. "I refuse to be called Louise. I ask people to refer to me as Molly as I prefer Molly and that is my name. I will not be called Louise as I detest that name."

The Mycroft on the left, Vernet, smiled warmly at her. "Perhaps I can change your mind by the usual method."

"No," his Molly said firmly, crossing her arms over her chest. "Over this matter I refuse to be bought."

"How much?" Sally asked, walking over to Vernet. He reached into his inner chest pocket, removing a pre-written cheque and handed it over to the Detective Sargent. She glanced down at it briefly before carefully tucking it into her pocket. "Get over it, Louise."

"_Sally_!"

"You pay her?" Sherlock asked, obviously horrified at the sheer thought. He looked over at the newly christened Louise and frowned. "You _work_ for him?"

"Only for little matters I can not attend to myself. Not everyone can rely on a sizable inheritance, Sherlock," Vernet said coolly.

Louise huffed, pouted, and rolled her eyes dramatically before looking over at Sally. "I suppose I am in need of a new microscope."

Sally self-consciously touched the cheque in her pocket. "Molly-"

"Louise," Mycroft corrected.

"Right, sorry, Louise. Do you know your current bank balance?"

Louise stared at her flatmate blankly as if the concept of bank balances was a strange and foreign thing she'd never heard of before. "No."

"Well I do. Trust me, you'll be wanting to put this money towards rent or I'll be wanting a new flatmate soon."

Louise sighed deeply and hopped off the examination table. "Bugger money," she muttered under her breathe. She hesitated for a moment, took a deep breathe, and straightened herself up. "I suppose I could agree to be referred to as Loo."

"And I think I'd prefer Ford," he said, not even bothering to try and argue for his name. He didn't want to risk Vernet having a cheque in his pocket for him too. "Sherrinford is a bit of a mouthful."

"Nonsense," Loo said, smiling brightly at him. His heart instantly clenched in his chest and he felt his mouth go dry. "Sherrinford is a splendid name. In fact, I may go on to call you Sherrinford always."

The bad thing was that he really couldn't see a problem with Molly – no, Loo – calling him Sherrinford. Frankly, he didn't care what she called him so long as she did it with a smile like that on her face.

"Mycroft, what is going on?" Sherlock asked, pushing past John to go stand before the twin replicas of their brother.

Both Mycroft and Verne smiled the exact same smug and yet worried smile. It was uncanny and sent a shiver down Sherrinford's spine. "It's a complicated story and one that I am incapable of relating properly," Mycroft said. "You shall have to come with us and meet with the Doctor and have him tell it. I do believe he's the only one who understands any of this."

"The Doctor," Sherlock repeated. "Doctor who?"

Vernet smiled widely. "Exactly."

* * *

**AN cont: Hopefully that wasn't too confusing. Next chapter is going to be a bit of a doozy in an massive info-dump way, but bear with me. **

**If there's still confusion over names, here's the rundown. Only the Swapped characters are getting name changes and for them it's only the characters who have major roles to play. That means only Swap!Molly, Swap!Sherlock, and Swap!Mycroft get name changes (so far!). BBC Sally isn't going to be appearing much so Swap!Sally gets to keep her name. I decided to go with middle names so that I wouldn't get Sherlock and Mycroft confused and because Sherlock has the most hilarious possible (and very nearly canonical) middle name ever.**

**Swap!Molly from now on is going by Loo as her full name is Molly Louise Hooper.**  
**Swap!Sherlock is now going by Sherrinford as his full name is Sherlock Sherrinford Holmes**  
**Swap!Mycroft is now going by Vernet as his full name is Mycroft Vernet Holmes.**

**Hope that clears everything up! **


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Once again I'd like to thank everyone who's been reviewing and putting this and my other fics on their favorites list or on alert! Especially, jack63kids, Pelahnar, sparklenotebook, Lono, varjaks, CompanionToMisterHolmes, lostmypen120, LilyAnthea, NiteQueen, SammyKatz, Birds on a Wire, mstie6, MollyHooperRules, and Farie Insignias.**

**I did have one reviewer and a couple PMs (and for the record, I am terrible about answering PMs) asking about my choice of using Sherrinford for the Swap!Sherlock. The reason behind it is one of the unanswered questions of Sir ACD's original stories and the Sherlockian games that come of it. At one point book!Sherlock talks about being related to country squires hinting that there might be a house and some money in his family. Since this is still Victorian times, the eldest son still inherits everything, but Mycroft works for the government. If he was due to inherit he'd be in the country, learning to run the estate instead. This has lead to fancanon in the book universe that there has to be a third Holmes brother, the first born, and canon holds that his first name is Sherrinford as Sir ACD had originally intended to name Sherlock that. (Just think, we could all be fangasming about _Sherrinford_ on the BBC. Somehow I don't think it would have been as catchy.) Fan booklore also says that Sherlock's father is named Siger and his mother is named Violet. Just in case anyone wanted to know. It's not going to come up in this fic.**

**Fanlore for the books is a bit difficult as Sir ACD was a bit of a sloppy writer who didn't fact check himself. After all, according to Sir ACD there are two James Moriartys. The Professor who is our beloved villain and his younger brother who writes nasty letters saying that his brother isn't a villain like Holmes claims. Sir ACD also can't decide what Watson's first name is. He's called both John and James. (Maybe Watson is secretly another Moriarty brother?)**

**Okay, this author note is getting far too long. Sorry, but it turns out the Doctor is appearing in the next chapter. The chapter got too long and the characters felt like fighting still so it's more character development than anything else.**

**I hope you enjoy it anyway!**

* * *

There had been two towncars waiting outside of Barts when they exited the building. Sherlock had immediately gone to the first one, John and Mycroft following, while Loo, Sally, Sherrinford, and Vernet went to the second car.

"Are you sure you don't want me to wait here?" Sherrinford asked from the open door as Loo scrambled inside. The woman gave him a dark looked and grabbed his wrist, hauling him inside after her. "I'm just not going to be much help is all," he continued to protest as Sally and Vernet also clambered in. He glanced back at the doors of the hospital. "Maybe I'd be more useful if I helped Molly get through all the autopsies faster?" Loo shot him a dark look as Vernet pointedly closed the towncar door. "I mean, I am a pathologist, not a police officer like Sally."

"Your aid is instrumental to me at this time," Loo snapped, turning her back to him to gaze out the window. "You annoy the other Sherlock. That is advantageous to me at this moment."

"Oh."

Loo was brooding, biting her lip as she glowered at the passing sights of London from the back of the black towncar they'd squeezed themselves into. She was taking up too much room and her elbow was digging into his side, but that Loo for you. On his other side was Sally, also frowning, but this time at her mobile as she texted rapidly to someone. Vernet was sitting on the back facing bench, umbrella sitting across his lap to take up the entire seat and staring at him intently.

Sherrinford sighed and tried to ignore his brother's piercing gaze. After all, it was stare #9, I am disappointed in you, you will never live up to the Holmes name, and your sheer existence is bringing shame to the family. So really, it was the way Vernet always looked at him. And their Mother wondered why he'd stopped coming to family dinner.

"So," he said, voice a little too loud in the small confines of the car. "Where exactly are you taking us, Vernet?"

"That's not Vernet, it's Mycroft," Loo said shortly, still looking outside the window.

"Oh, so we're allowed to call each other by our real names when we're alone?"

"No. _That_," she gestured vaguely to the man sitting across from them all, "is not your brother. It is the _other_ Sherlock's brother. Really, I would have thought that the differences would be perfectly obvious to you being that you are supposedly siblings."

"Don't be a git about it," Sally said, her attention still focused on her phone. "Not everyone has your bizarre super power."

"But it's obvious!" Loo protested, sitting up straighter and looking at him beseechingly. "How can none of you see it?"

Vernet or Mycroft or whoever he was supposed to be was smirking at them all smugly, making no move to speak or to clear up the matter. Which was exactly what his brother would do in a situation like this. Eyeing him carefully, Sherrinford tried to spot anything wrong with his brother's appearance but came up empty. Vernet looked like Vernet always did. Then again, he hadn't been able to tell the difference between the two Mollys either. He felt his face heated up at the memory.

Loo's eyes narrowed at him and she turned away, disgust on her face. "The wedding band is the most obvious difference," she said, voice going rapid as she stared intently at Vernet/Mycroft. "It's too small for his finger and there is no indentation indicating previous ring wearing. This leads me to believe that this version of Mycroft is not, nor ever has been, married. He obviously took Vernet's wedding band in an attempt to trick us into thinking that he was your brother and to see if I was truly capable of spotting the difference. He is also approximately five pounds heavier than your brother, likely due to his not having a wife in his life to force him to stick to his diet. His clothes are cleaner, carefully pressed, and his shoes have no scuff marks on them. No children. Also, this Mycroft is gay, a stark difference from your brother. Notice that he has not once tried to unscrupulously stare at my, nor Sally's, breasts a marked departure from his usual behavior."

Sherrinford sputtered loudly as Sally's attention snapped up from her phone to glare at the suddenly uncomfortable looking Mycroft. "He does what now?" Sally demanded.

"Stares at your breasts," Loo supplied helpfully. "All the time. I'm surprised you haven't noticed. He's quite blatant about it, pretending that we're talking to him naked."

"My brother's married," Sherrinford snapped, turning towards Loo. "He's even admitted that Sasha is the best thing that's ever happened to him and he has three children." He shot a glare towards Mycroft. "And he's staring at you and Sally and other women, imagining you _naked_?"

"Don't be too concerned about it," Loo said soothingly, patting his hand. "From what I've been able to deduce from the brief span I spent in his home – when I was stealing back your violin for you, remember? – your brother and his wife enjoy a happy and mutual polyamorous relationship. Most likely with-"

"New rule," he interrupted quickly, holding up a hand and feeling his blush start to travel down his neck. Loo scowled at him, crossing her arms and slouching down into her seat. She hated when he or Sally came up with rules, though she always followed them. By his calculations this was going to be rule number seven. "No deducing anything about my brother's sex life out loud when I'm present, okay?"

"Fine," Loo growled. "Now, as I was saying, this Mycroft is gay and possesses a female assistant – note the faint smell of perfume – most likely to keep him from getting in trouble with the male ones. He is also slightly thinner up top due to the stress of running the British government with none of the relaxation your brother finds in activities I am no longer allowed to speak of. Thus, this is not your brother Vernet, but Mycroft."

This seemed to be enough to finally prompt Mycroft to speak. "Excellent work, Miss. Hooper. I am pleased to find that you live up to Vernet's esteem so well. I look forward to seeing you and Sherlock work together."

Loo rolled her eyes and went back to staring out the window. "Your Sherlock is a git and I despise him utterly. We will not be working together any time in the near future. I will speak to this _Doctor_ of yours, determine the reasons for this strange happening with Sally and Sherrinford, and then happily never see any of you ever again." She looked back to Mycroft out of the corner of her eye. "Do we have an understanding, Mr. Holmes?"

Mycroft chuckled slightly and leaned back into his seat. "You and Sherlock are so much the same. It's uncanny."

"We're not the same."

"You're exactly the same," Sally said with a sigh, putting her phone away. "Get over it. If it makes you feel any better Sherlock's probably hating and insulting you at this moment as well."

SH-MH-SH-MH-SH

Sherlock stared out of the window of the town car, glaring at the passing scenes of London as his knee vibrated like a hummingbird. "Did you see him, John? Simple and simpering and so _normal_."

John rolled his eyes and looked to Mycroft who was ignoring them completely to text on his phone instead. Great. So he was on his own then to deal with Sherlock Holmes, the toddler having a tantrum. "I saw him Sherlock. I was there."

"Unable to deduce a single thing. Confusing Molly Hooper and that-that _thing_ that just happens to look like her."

"Sherlock, I can't even tell the difference between Loo and Molly. They're identical. Hell, you're a haircut and a tie away from looking like Sherrinford."

If Sherlock could kill with a look, John would have been really impressively dead at that moment. "I am nothing like that sad replica," he growled under his breathe. "The dissimilarities between us are plentiful and obvious. Everyone should be able to see them. _Molly Hooper_ should have been able to see them."

John held up a hand sensing Sherlock was about to go into another rant. "Okay, whatever problem you suddenly have with Molly has got to stop. You and Sherrinford look _identical_, Sherlock. Molly's had a crush on you forever. It's not her fault that your nice twin showed up and she took advantage of the situation for a bit of a snog."

Sherlock suddenly found something outside the window intensely interesting. "Molly Hooper does not have feelings for me," he said, gazing at whatever was so fascinating.

Mycroft snorted loudly as John rolled his eyes. "Please, Sherlock. What were you just saying about things that were obvious? Molly's been in love with you since before we met. It was _obvious_ from the first time I saw the way she looked at you."

"It's true, Sherlock," Mycroft said, smiling smugly. He didn't even bother to look up from his phone. "The girl is quite taken with you, the poor soul."

"Oh _do_ shut up, Vernet," Sherlock snapped. "You simply took off a wedding ring and handed it over to my brother and thought I wouldn't notice? Please. The very least you could have done was ogle John to at least _attempt_ to deceive me."

John blinked at Sherlock. "Mycroft ogles me?"

"I shall take that under suggestion," Vernet said smoothly, tucking his phone into his inside suit coat pocket. "If I may give you a piece of advice though? Do be more careful with Doctor Hooper's feelings. The girl controls your access to St. Bartholomew's and I shudder to think how taxing you would become to Mycroft if she gained the courage to ban you from there."

Frowning tightly Sherlock looked from John to Vernet and back again. "Why are you both under the impression that I am upset with Molly Hooper?"

"Well," John started, "first of all you keep calling her 'Molly Hooper.' You only use full names when you're really annoyed with a person."

"Secondly," Vernet continued, "we were present when you belittled and insulted her to the point of tears."

"Not good, Sherlock," John sighed. "Not good at all. When we get back the first thing you're going to do is apologize. If she'll even listen to you."

"Belittle and insult? I did no such thing."

John sighed deeply. "Sherlock, why do you think she ran out of the room in tears?"

"She didn't," Sherlock said firmly. "She was merely hurrying in order to catch up with her work. This morning's distractions made her terribly behind."

John sighed again and rubbed at his temple. "Sherlock, think. I mean really _think_. Use your human emotions for once."

Sherlock glared at his flatmate, but with a sigh accessed the part of his mind palace that dealt with recent, currently uncategorized memories. He thought back to the morgue, everyone fetching their coats or other belongings in order to follow Mycroft and Vernet to meet with this supposed Doctor. Loo, blasted woman, had snapped for Sherrinford to get his coat as she insisted – for reasons that escaped Sherlock, the man was mostly useless – that he was coming with them.

At that, Molly had looked up at him. Her face was slightly red – likely due to leftover mortification at being tricked by the imposter Sherrinford – as she smiled up at him weakly. "Should I be getting my coat too?" she had asked him.

He'd snorted. That was fine, Molly had told a joke. "Hardly," he'd replied and true perhaps his voice had been a little severe, but the stress of suddenly having two Mycrofts had been getting to him. "If you think it is possible that you could ever be of any aid to me." See, he had told a joke back. Molly was greatly helpful to him, surely she knew that. "It would be better for you to return to work and do the job you are paid for rather than get involved in matters too great for you to comprehend." And there, he had complimented her. Molly's skills in preforming autopsies and comprehension of the causes of death were far greater than that of case solving. Surely she knew that was what he had meant?

She must have understood his meaning as Molly had immediately left, muttering something about getting back to work. Perhaps her voice had been a bit choked up, but then she had a bit of a shock that morning what with the _other_ Molly and a second Sherlock. It was bound to affect her somehow.

No, there was no reason for Molly to be upset with him. Though perhaps if he did look at the issue from John's point of view…

If, perhaps, Molly had not been making a joke.

If he had responded to her serious query with joking sarcasm.

If she had not detected the compliment to her work.

If the harshness of her voice as she exited the room was due to tears at his words rather than the stress of the day.

"_Hell_," he cursed loudly, fishing his mobile out of his jacket pocket.

"And he finally gets it," John said, leaning back into his seat.

"You'll have to text your apology to Miss. Hooper at a later time, Sherlock," Vernet said as the towncar slowed than slid to a stop. "We're here."

SH-MH-SH-MH-SH

Molly sniffled loudly, pressing a tissue to her dripping eyes. "Stop it," she hissed to herself under her breathe. "Just stop it. He's not worth it."

She always hated talking to herself to help with her problems. It seemed so strange, so crazy. Yet, forcing her voice to sound firm and giving herself orders did seem to help. Besides, there wasn't anyone in the morgue to overhear her anyway. There were only the dead and they weren't about to complain or tattle on her.

Taking a deep calming breathe she squared her shoulders and willed her tears to stop. "You just keep telling yourself you have to get over him and you will. This is just the _last straw,_ isn't that right Molly? You'll get over him and meet a nice bloke who'll treat you right and not make you cry and you'll just be so _happy_ you'll forget all about Sherlock _bloody_ Holmes and his stupid cheekbones and his smiles and his stupid bloody blue eyes and-" She cut herself off with a sob that shook her shoulders.

"Oh Mols," a deep male voice sighed from somewhere behind her. "Don't you know that talking to yourself is the first sign of insanity?"

Molly jumped, her face going bright red in embarrassment as she turned around. It was bad enough to be caught crying at work, but talking to herself as well? She opened her mouth to apologize only for the words to freeze in her throat as she took in the figure that was standing there.

The ghost smirked at her, his eyes twinkling mischievously in the bright light of the morgue. "Been awhile, hasn't it Mols?" Shoving his hands in his pockets he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively at her. "How about you and me go out to the Fox?"

"Jim," she gasped, taking a step back.

If anything, Jim Moriarty's smile widened as he started to cross the room towards her. "I should warn you that I'm not hungry right now. So how about it? Dinner at the Fox?"

Molly screamed.


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: Not happy with this chapter at all. The scenes with the Doctor and Sherlock just didn't want to be written! Which was horrible since the Jim and Molly scenes were just so easy to write. Oh well, hope you all enjoy anyway! And if anyone is reading _The Ghost and Molly Hooper_, chapter 2 of that should be up tomorrow.**

**Once again I'd like to thank everyone that's reviewed and put this story on alert. Especially, lostmypen120, Pelahnar, broadwayb, varjaks, Guest, MadHatter524, Lono, Calicar, aye2skeye, Faye Kinitt, and Cherryredgurl.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

The building there were brought to was an ancient factory, huge and dilapidated, though from the faint glow coming from behind the windows it was obvious that someone was currently occupying it. They piled out of the cars, Mycroft and Vernet assuming identical poses as Vernet accepted his wedding ring back from his twin.

"I'm afraid affairs of state need us," Mycroft said, turning to the assembled crowd. "There is some concern in the upper ranks of what to do now that we have both a Queen and King of England. Without our presence, no one is sure who to take orders from."

"Wait, King?" John asked. "You lot have a King?"

"King Ebenezer the second," Sherrinford said, smiling slightly. "So you have a Queen?"

John nodded. "Just when you think the world can't get any more bizarre."

"In any case," Vernet said before the conversation could become more off track. "The Doctor is inside and he has assured us that he shall be able to answer all questions regarding this matter. The door inside is in the rear and the Doctor has asked us to tell you not to enter the building if you see that the red light by the door is on."

The Mycrofts bid them farewell, the first of the two towncars whisking the men away. Sherlock wondered briefly if his brother was enjoying this chaos. If anyone was, it would be him. Frowning slightly at the thought he turned his attention to the small woman at his side who was also frowning with a concerned look on her face. "Shall we then?"

Loo glanced up at him and nodded. "Lets. The sooner this situation is resolved the better."

He nodded once. "Agreed."

"Come Sally, Sherrinford," Loo said. Without glancing to see if she was being followed she began stalking towards the side of the building, Sherlock half a step behind.

They had to jump a short fence to get to the rear of the building – Sherrinford tore his lab coat during the attempt and had sworn surprisingly well when he realized it – and found the door without issue. A large light bulb had been hastily installed next to the door, un-illuminated, it hung limply from a mess of wires someone had threaded through a hole in the wall.

"So that means we go in?" John asked, poking slightly at the bulb. "Or do we knock first?"

Sherlock snorted and was disturbed when Loo snorted at the same moment in the same way. They glanced at each other than away quickly.

Sally sighed loudly and glared at them both. "Let's just go in," she said. Grabbing the door handle, she wrenched the door open and stood aside. "He is expecting us."

He swept inside first. The interior of the factory was dark, though now that they were inside he could hear a faint hum coming from somewhere deeper in. Taking the lead, he walked towards the noise, the others following him through the crowded room. Parts and bits of machinery were scattered over the floor with cables strung between them and hanging from the ceiling. It looked a bit like a play he had seen once, Sherlock thought to himself as one of the cables sparked loudly, bright white pinpricks of light flaming away as they avoided that portion of the floor. _Frankenstein_. He had seen it during secondary school, a trip hosted by his overly enthusiastic literature teacher. For some reason he'd never quite deleted the entire memory. Most of the play he'd removed from his mind, but the image of Frankenstein's creature – bald and screaming as it roared to life – haunted his mind still.

He frowned as he gazed at one of the battered pieces of machinery, the hum louder than it had been a moment before. The next time he entered his mind palace he would have to rectify this issue, he noted to himself. This sort of semi-emotional reaction was unnecessary.

John tripped over a cable and cursed loudly when it sparked at him. "This is ridiculous," he growled, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Where the devil is this Doctor person any-"

The world stopped.

And for a moment Sherlock could see _everything_.

He could see the atoms in the air – spinning, whirling, vibrating, electrons and protons and neutrons and quarks and leptons and particles so tiny that didn't even have names yet – he could see the path of the light as it reflected through the room – bright white beams that bounced off the concrete floor and his hands and the shine of the machine parts around them – he could see all the people who had ever come to this room and who would ever come there – ghosts that didn't even notice that he was there as they went about their business passing around and through him – he could feel the Earth rotate beneath his feet – roughly 600 miles per hour if his calculations were correct – he could feel the Earth speeding uncontrollably around the sun – 67,062 miles per hour – he could feel the sun burning out – so young, only 4.5 billion years old, but it would be gone all too soon, billions and billions of years from now – he could see everything that was, everything that is, everything that could be.

He could feel _time_. It tickled.

It was _glorious_.

The world seemed to lurch beneath his feet. Someone was screaming. It may have been him.

He came back to himself and found that he was on his knees, hands clasped over his ears as a trail of blood dripped from his nose. His breathe was labored, his muscles trembled. Everything, every proton, neuron, and complex protein chain – everything that he'd once been able to see – hurt. Swallowing heavily he wondered what had happened. He wondered if he would die if it happened again.

He wondered if he would care.

"We have universal collapse!" someone was shouting from a room far away underwater.

He tried to look up and see the voice but the world swam before his eyes and he wondered if it was going to happen again. If he'd be able to see it all again. _God_, he hoped so.

Someone grabbed him as he started to collapse forward, pulling him back upright. "Who let these apes in here!?" a different voice shouted. Two hands started to pull him away. He didn't fight it. "Doctor! We need to get them out!"

John was laying on the floor, eyes wide open and mouth agape, as the hands dragged him from the room. Sally was by his side, arm over her eyes as she gasped for breathe. Molly was – no, not Molly, Loo. Molly wasn't here. Molly was back at Barts, safe safe safe – Loo had slumped to the floor, a look that somehow was both fear and euphoria blanketing her features. He was glad for that. Glad that someone else had seen what he had seen. Glad that someone else wanted it back. Sherrinford looked to be crying.

The world went dark.

SH-MH-SH-MH-SH

Molly wasn't sure how she had managed to do it, but somehow she'd made it to the supply cupboard before Jim had been able to catch her. The door didn't lock from the inside – of course it wouldn't, no one had planned that the room would be used to hide from a psychopathic killer after all – but that was okay. There were heavy shelves and boxes and all manner of things to stack in front of the door.

She managed to get the first shelf in place just as Jim tried to force the door open. She shrieked a little as the door opened a few inches and she struggled against the shelf as she tried to push back against it. She was going to die. There was no other way around it. Even if it took him awhile, Jim was going to make it into the supply cupboard and then he was going to kill her.

Why else would he have come for her?

"Open the door, Molly," Jim said from outside, his voice calm and almost pleasant. He stopped pushing and Molly shoved the shelf more firmly against the door and looked around for something else to push in the way. "This isn't funny."

"Go away!" she shouted. There was a box of cleaning supplies in the corner – gallons of disinfectant inside – it was probably the heaviest thing in the room. She dashed over to it and pushed it over so that it was in front of the shelf, feet scrambling against the slippery tile. "Just go away and leave me alone."

"Dammit Molly!" Jim shouted, pounding loudly. "Open this door!"

Her mobile? Where was her mobile? She patted down her pockets and nearly sobbed. It was still in her handbag and that was out in the morgue. She couldn't call for help, couldn't warn Sherlock now. Oh god, did Sherlock even know that Jim was alive? He'd told her that he was dead, that he'd shot himself on the roof of Barts the day that he had jumped. No one had found the body. Sherlock had assured her that it had simply been stolen before anyone had gotten up there to look. Had he been wrong? Or worse, had he lied to her?

Jim was trying to force the door again, muttering and cursing as she put her full weight against the shelf and hoped that was enough to keep it closed. Jim wasn't that much bigger than her, maybe she would be able to keep him out.

But Sherlock! Even if he knew Jim was alive, Sherlock had to know that he was here at Barts. This could be some sort of trap after all. Jim could have come, knowing that Sherlock would eventually return, and could be laying a trap for Sherlock to walk right into. She had to get her mobile, had to warn Sherlock, but the only way to do that would be to get out of the room and to do _that_ she'd need to get past Jim.

Molly closed her eyes tightly and braced herself against the shelf as Jim continued to try and push open the door. "Think," she muttered under her breathe. "You can do this Molly, just think!"

SH-MH-SH-MH-SH

Someone was shining a bright light into his eyes. "Ah! You're awake!" a cheerful voice said. The light went away. "Good. I was beginning to think your brain had melted and you had fallen into an inescapable coma." Someone patted him firmly on the shoulder. "Lucky break, that."

Sherlock swallowed heavily, his tongue feeling swollen and dull in his dry mouth. "What-"

"You got too close to our multi-versal keeper aparter machine," he voice said. He blinked, once, twice, three times and the room started to come into focus. The owner of the voice was young and… brown. Very brown. "Nasty business! Should have kept behind the shielding. I thought I told the Mycrofts not to let anyone in when the red light was off." The figure seemed to pause for a second, deep in thought. "Or was that on?"

"John?"

"Oh, fine, fine. Nasty bump on the head from when he collapsed, but nothing that we can't fix," the man, the person speaking to him was a man, said. "No, you'll all recover without any lingering side effects. Probably. _Mostly_. Did you ever want to have children, by chance?"

He groaned loudly to his ears, hands coming up to rub at his temples.

"Right!" the man said cheerfully. He leapt to his feet, and now that Sherlock's eyesight had cleared slightly he could see the man's floppy brown hair and wide happy grin. "I'll just be leaving you to rest and go check on the others then, shall I?"

The man raced off and Sherlock lifted himself up into a sitting position. The world still swam before his eyes, but as he forced himself to keep his breathing slow and even it slowly came back into focus. Orange, was the first thing he recognized, blinking his eyes rapidly to dismiss the colour. Orange and circles. The walls, that sloped up into an oddly shaped dome over their heads, were covered in circular panels that seemed to glow softly with a diffuse orange light. Cables hung from the ceiling, draping haphazardly through the air all leading to a console on a glass platform in the center of the room. Metal stairs led up to the console and away to rooms out of his sight.

The others were laying nearby. The floppy haired man, wearing tweed and a bowtie he saw now, was hovering over John passing some sort of humming electronic device over him. Sally was twitching, groaning loudly as she tried to get herself upright as well. His twin was also sitting up though he looked as if he was about to be sick at any moment. Loo was still sprawled out over the floor unmoving, unconscious or sleeping he didn't know nor did he care to know.

She was nothing like Molly, he thought to himself, taking in her small form. The Molly imposter could look like Molly, speak with her voice, and dress like her, but could never be her. Molly was soft and kind with gentle eyes and an unassuming manner. She was the perfect lab assistant and the only passible pathologist at Barts. Compared to her, Loo was an awkward stumbling reflection and he, frankly, could not wait to be rid of her.

"You," a voice said from his left. He turned slowly to meet a pair of intense dark eyes. "Are a very lucky ape."

"How so?" he asked. His voice was still hoarse and he resisted the urge to cough and try to clear it.

The man who was crouched down next to him, dark eyes focused on his own, was perhaps starting to reach middle age. He couldn't make precise estimates at height in his current position, but he looked to be near Sherlock's own with broad shoulders but a narrow waist. He was immaculately groomed with dark hair that had been tightly slicked back and a goatee that had been expertly trimmed into its current form. He was wearing a three piece suit, the dark coat currently removed, with the shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows and with traces of grease and oil upon his exposed pale skin.

A forceful person, Sherlock thought to himself, mind racing. Someone who was used to giving not receiving orders. While dressing and presenting himself as someone above manual labour he had no hesitations about doing any dirty work that needed to be done. Additionally, despite the aloof look in his eyes, he had lowered himself to Sherlock's own level to speak with him. Lonely, Sherlock thought taking in the short distance the man was from him. Very lonely, he clarified as he saw the man's eyes flit to watch the bowtied man as he raced over to Sally next. Also, possibly gay.

"Your brain should have liquefied from being so close to a universal collapse," the man said, his eyes going back to meet with Sherlock's. "The fact that it didn't is surprising and proves my theory."

Sherlock licked his lips, watching carefully as the man's eyes shot down to his mouth. Definitely gay. "Your theory being?"

"That this universe was one of the two that began the collapse cascade." The man looked at him intently once more then smiled slightly. "Tell me, have you experienced any headaches recently?"

"I woke up this morning with a migraine," Loo said from behind him. Sherlock turned to see the small woman still flat on her back, but with her eyes finally open and fixed on the ceiling. "Sally did as well and, from observation, it appeared as if Sherrinford, Molly, and John all had mild headaches too. You, Sherlock?"

"Yes," he said shortly. "I slept last night and awoke with a headache."

The man nodded and stood. He offered Sherlock a hand and, after a moment's hesitation, Sherlock took it, allowing the man to pull him to his feet. Despite his appearance, the man was rather strong and Sherlock carefully filed this information away as well. "I thought as much. Doctor," he said addressing the bowtied man whose head shot towards them at his name, "we've found the center of the disturbance."

"Excellent!" the Doctor said with a happy grin. Patting Sally gently on the shoulder he leapt to his feet and oddly spun before running up the staircase to the central console. "I'll have this all sorted out in two shakes of an Ood's tentacle, see if I don't!"

The other man rolled his eyes and snorted loudly. "I doubt things will be simple," he said, joining the Doctor at the center console. "We've no idea how the cascade started and the stabilizer is too much for me to handle on my own."

"Is this making sense to anyone?" John asked weakly, still on the floor. "Because I'm not getting any of this."

Sally pushed herself up to her feet. "Multiverse theory," she said, stumbling slightly to keep her balance. "Outside our universe are lots of bubble universes each looking like but not quite copying ours. Maybe it's a universe where the Nazis won WWII, maybe it's a universe where musicals really happen and everybody sings about their feelings, maybe it's one where the Spice Girls never formed. Whatever the difference, these bubble universes are merging together making multiple universes into one."

They all stared at her blankly.

"I wanted to be the one to explain that," the Doctor said. He seemed to be torn between grinning madly at Sally and pouting at her.

"How did you know?" the other man asked, staring at her baffled.

"This happened in an episode of _Inspector Spacetime_," Sally said. "Only in the episode everyone from the other universe was evil and wore goatees." She looked suspiciously at the other man. "Are you evil?"

The man scoffed loudly as the Doctor looked sheepish. "Well," the Doctor said as the other man said "Absolutely not!"

The man gave the Doctor a cross look and walked over to Sally. "You have impressed me, ape." Taking Sally's hand in his own he bowed stiffly over it and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. "There have been few who have ever managed to do so. You may call me the Professor. And you are?"

"Sally Donovan," she said, the faintest of blushes starting to cover her cheeks.

The Professor looked at her intently and smiled. Maybe not gay, Sherlock thought to himself. Bisexual. Or perhaps simply just that lonely. "After this is over, we must speak Sally. But first this situation must be resolved." With that he dropped her hand and went back to the console.

Loo looked up at her flatmate, still on the floor. "You figured out what was happening from that ruddy show?" She looked rather put out from that fact. "I'm never going to be able to insult _Inspector Spacetime_ again, am I?"

Sally grinned down at her widely. "Nope!"

SH-MH-SH-MH-SH

Molly took a deep breath and double checked one last time to make sure the scalpel was properly hidden in her sleeve. It was. She was as ready as she ever was going to be.

"I'm opening the door now," she called out. Her voice barely wavered. Good, she was proud of herself for that at least.

There was silence from the other side of the door then a long, tired sigh. "Finally," Jim growled. "You've come to your senses at last then."

"Y-Yes, I-" she swallowed heavily, "just let me move a few things and I'll have the door open."

"Take your time."

Her hands were trembling as she pulled away the boxes. If this plan didn't work-

No, it had to work. She would _make_ it work. Sherlock and John and everyone were counting on her even if they didn't know it. She had to warn them. Licking her lips nervously she eyed the shelf. This was it. Her final moment to back down. She took another deep breathe and struggled to pull the shelf away from the door. Finally it was unblocked. Molly stared at the still closed door and trembled.

"Well?" Jim asked from the other side. "I'm waiting. Are you going to open it or shall I?"

"I will," Molly said quickly. She checked the scalpel one last time and grabbed the handle. Slowly she opened the door.

Jim was there waiting for her, arms crossed over his chest. He stared at her with an annoyed expression on his face as he tapped his foot impatiently. He was wearing a smart black suit with little skulls on the buttons, his tie a vibrant red against his black shirt. She shuddered slightly as he raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow at her.

"Well that was pointless," he growled making no move to grab her. She didn't dare approach him either. "What were you thinking locking yourself into a cupboard?"

"I was thinking," she said slowly, honestly, "that I didn't want to die."

Jim snorted loudly, but the smile that crossed his face quickly slid into a frown. "What?" He stepped towards her, hand outstretched to grab her arm. "Molly, what on earth are you talking-"

She struck, grabbing the scalpel out of her sleeve and stabbing out blindly. It wasn't a good move. She hadn't wanted to hurt Jim, not really, so instead of aiming for his carotid artery she'd hit him in the chest instead. The scalpel cut through the fabric of his suit like butter and sank into him its full length, maybe an inch at the most. So shocked at what she had done – she'd never cut an alive person before, not outside her surgery rotation and they didn't count since they had anesthesia – she let go of the blade.

Jim jerked back, cursing loudly.

This was her chance, some part of her screamed. Now! While he was still distracted by the pain!

She barreled towards him, shoving him aside as she raced for her handbag. Molly heard him topple to the floor, still swearing loudly. Heart hammering in her chest she grabbed her handbag, ripping it open and started to search for her mobile.

The sound of metal hitting the floor and Jim's enraged shout – "Molly! What the _hell_!?" – caused her to look back up. Jim was back on his feet and coming for her. There was blood oozing from his chest where she'd stabbed him and fury in his eyes.

She searched faster, tears in her eyes as a more rational part of her brain screamed at her to grab the handbag and run. It was a better idea. So she did.


End file.
